


Easter Extravaganza

by sunkelles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aromantic Arya Stark, Aromantic Asexual Arya Stark, Asexual Arya Stark, Easter Egg Hunt, F/F, Female Friendship, Femslash, Fluff, Jon is Cat and Ned's son because I'm lazy, LARGE AMOUNTS OF CANDY, Modern Westeros AU, The Tullys are Catholic, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:52:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shireen can’t say no when Arya invites her to spend Easter with the Starks. She physically can, but she wouldn’t want to. She’s never had a proper Easter, and Arya has quickly become her best friend. She would probably spend her summer vacation in Antarctica if Arya asked her to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easter Extravaganza

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry Jon. I wrote you out because I didn't know what to do with you.Shireen still thinks that you're cute, though. 
> 
> Also, this is set in a very similar universe to "The Kids Are Alright" in that Shireen and Arya are best friends and that Arya is aro and ace. If for some reason you didn't/wouldn't enjoy that, I wouldn't recommend this fic.

Shireen has never liked Easter. To be more specific, Shireen has never liked any holiday. Christmas always involved a long church service. They never had any presents because her mother thought that was “too commercial”. Easter involved a long church service too, and never involved the egg hunts and candy that the other kids boasted of because her mother thought that was too commercial. All non-Christian holidays were completely ignored.

 

 

 

She can’t say no when Arya invites her to spend Easter with the Starks. She physically can, but she wouldn’t want to. She’s never had a proper Easter, and Arya has quickly become her best friend. She would probably spend her summer vacation in Antarctica if Arya asked her to.

 

 

 

Their last class ends at five on Friday, but Arya doesn’t want to leave until Saturday afternoon. She loves her family, but she needs some time away from them. Plus, it’s only a two hour drive to Winterfell. They stop at McDonalds, where Arya orders a Happy Meal with a hamburger and fries, and makes sure that she gets a toy.

 

Shireen sends her a funny look, but ends up ordering a Happy Meal too, hers with chicken nuggets instead.

 

They sit down at a red plastic booth and eat way too many fries while Arya pushes the toy car she got with her meal all around the table. Shireen runs the small brush through her even smaller doll’s hair as Arya races her car along the window seal.

“We’re a bunch of children,” Shireen says. Arya looks at her.

 

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” she says. Shireen thinks about it for a moment, and ends up agreeing with her. They did end up having more fun, ordering whatever they want, playing with the toys as they saw fit and telling the world that they didn’t care.

 

 

 

They’re cruising down the highway, nearly an hour later, and Shireen is still running the pink, plastic brush absently through her doll’s blonde hair.

 

She says, “You know, I’ve never had an Easter egg hunt.” Arya looks over to her in shock.

 

“Look at the road!” Shireen nearly shrieks. Arya doesn’t though, she looks at Shireen.

 

“You’ve really never had an Easter egg hunt?” She asks incredulously.

 

“I would be more likely to talk to you if you looked at the road,” Shireen says. Arya has a bad habit of looking anywhere but the road when she’s driving, and Shireen wants to break her of it. She doesn’t want her to die, and she certainly doesn’t want to die with her.

Arya rolls her eyes, but turns them to face the highway before her.

 

“But really?” Arya asks.

 

“Really,” she admits, “I’ve never had one.”

 

“But why?” She asks.

 

“My mother was always so opposed to them when I was little,” she says, “she thought that they took away from the Christian part of the holiday.” Shireen can almost hear Arya rolling her eyes.

Shireen spots a green “Winterfell” sign, and a few moments later, Arya makes a sharp right turn.

 

They’re in the Walmart parking lot a few moments later. It’s late enough that without the overhead lights, the parking lot would be a black blur.

 

“What are you getting?” Shireen asks.

 

“Egg dye, eggs,” Arya says, “a ton of Easter candy.” She opens the door and steps into the parking lot.

 

“Wait?” Shireen asks, following her friend out of the car, “for real?”

 

“Yes?” Arya says, as they walk further through the parking lot.

 

“Aren’t we a bit old?” She asks, before she even thinks of the Happy Meal toys.

 

“Age is just a number,” Arya tells her with a stupid little grin. They walk through the automatic doors of the Walmart, Arya grabs a cart, and she pushes it into the store.

They walk past the optometrist’s office and the hair stylist, and walk past the pharmacy before they finally get to the seasonal section.

She grabs an egg dying kit, and then pushes the cart into an aisle covered completely in pastel Easter candies.

 

“What candy do you want?” Arya asks, as she looks at the large assortment on the walls.

 

“I don’t know,” she says, before she amends, “anything with chocolate.” Arya grabs a gigantic bag of Hershey’s chocolates, One Hundred Grand Bars, and Kit-Kats and throws it into the cart. She adds a few chocolate bunnies, a bag of lemon drops, and four containers of bright yellow Peeps. Shireen’s eyes widen.

 

“Some of it’s for my siblings,” Arya says, defensively. Shireen laughs, and Arya pushes the cart, which is surprisingly full for only having candy and egg dye in it, into the large, central aisle. Arya pushes the cart quickly, almost too quickly for Shireen to keep up, and rides on the front of the cart for a few moments as they pass the clothes. They finally arrive in the groceries section, and have to pass the vegetables, candy, coffee, exotic foods, and God knows what else before they are finally in the refrigerated section.

Arya grabs two dozen of the cheapest eggs on display and places them gently into the cart. Then she proceeds to slam the cart back into gear, roughly pushing it back over to shopping lines.

Shireen grabs a pack of minty gum, and throws it on the register. She supposes if they’re spending a large sum of money on candy, she might as well get some gum out of it.

 

The exterior of Arya’s house is the picture of suburbia. Its off-white, stucco walls are nearly identical to that of the houses on either side. The lawn is starting to burst back into life and an American flag hangs off the front of the two garage doors just like every other house in the neighborhood. Arya parks her truck so close to the edge of the driveway that Shireen is a little afraid that anyone backing out could hit it. She grabs the enormous bag of candy while Arya grabs the eggs and egg dying supplies. Shireen follows Arya across the well-lit sidewalk path up to the front door, and stands awkwardly on the porch as she rings the bell.

Arya’s mother, a wise looking woman with long, auburn hair, grabs her daughter and pulls her into a hug.

 

“And you must be Shireen?” she asks. Shireen nods her assent. Arya smiles at her mother, but starts to bounce her knee a little, the way that she does when she’s anxious. Shireen understands why she’s anxious. It’s awfully awkward to just stand in silence on the porch.

 

“How’s class been?” Her mother asks.

 

“It’s been fine,” Arya replies, absently, as she goes back to her pickup truck.

 

“Getting straight to business?” her mother asks, a hint of fond exasperation in her tone. Catelyn must know even better than Shireen does how impatient Arya is.

 

“Yeah,” Arya says, not bothering to sound embarrassed, “we’ve got eggs to boil.”

 

“Eggs?” Her mother asks, “it’s nearly eleven o’clock.” Arya emerges from the cab of her pickup, grasping a bag of Easter goodies in each hand.

 

“Shireen has never had an Easter egg hunt,” Arya states, as if that explains everything. Perhaps it does, with the Starks. Shireen has learned that once Arya sets her mind on something, there’s no stopping her.

 

“Alright,” she says, not seeming like she particularly wishes to help, “you might ask Sansa if she’d like to help. I think she misses that.” Arya makes a face thatsuggests that she will be doing no such thing as she carries her supplies into the house. Shireen can hear some sort of music coming from the living room.

 

“Sansa’s watching _Jesus Christ Superstar_ ,” Arya tells her, “and I’d bet Margaery’s in there with her.” Arya has mentioned Sansa’s girlfriend a few times before, but she hadn’t thought that she’d meet her over this trip. They enter the kitchen, and are met by a large assortment of silver appliances. Arya grabs a large pan out of one of the dark brown cabinets and fills it nearly to the brim with water. Then she places it on the silver stove and turns on the burner.

 

She opens another cabinet, right beside the fridge, and takes out a pile of brightly colored cups. Then she sets them down on the table and grabs a container of vinegar. She pours a bit in each of the cups, and then adds water to each as well.

 

“Would you open up the box of dye?” Arya asks. Shireen rips the box open, and finds a white crayon, a small bag of rainbow, pill-like tablets, and small metal spoon-like contraptions.

 

“You can drop one of the color things in each of the cups,” Arya says. She’s glaring at the pot of water, hoping that she can make it boil with her sheer determination. Shireen opens the plastic bag with her teeth and then drops a tablet in each of the cups. She opens up one of the bags of candy, and eats a Hershey’s kiss. Arya sits down beside her, and shoves a few peeps into her mouth. They dye a few more eggs while they munch on sweets that will probably end up giving them cavities.

 

Shireen can hear some sort of loud, soulful singing, and she’s suddenly curious as to what exactly that movie is about.

 

“What is going on it that movie?” Shireen asks.

 

“Jesus is up on the mountain,” Arya says dramatically, “singing about his feelings.” Shireen raises an eyebrow.

 

“Sansa watches this musical every Easter,” Arya explains, “it’s about the story of Jesus’s death, but it’s mainly about Judas. There’s this one musical number at the end where he’s decked out in really crazy disco clothes and asking Jesus why he came when he did- _in song._ It’s really, really weird.” Arya sounds as if she’s seen _Jesus Christ Superstar_ more times than she’d like to admit, and Shireen has already decided that she doesn’t particularly want to watch it herself.

 

She watched an excessive amount of religious media as a child, and she isn’t sure she needs to add Judas singing in flamboyant seventies clothes to her extensive list.

 

Shireen and Arya take turns dropping eggs into the different color cups, waiting until each is a bold, bright color to take it out. A while later, an auburn-haired girl who can only be Arya’s older sister enters the kitchen.

 

“You two are dying eggs?” Sansa asks with a hint of confusion in her tone.

 

“You’re the one who was watching a musical from the seventies about Judas,” Arya retorts, “I’m not sure you have much room to talk.”

 

“ _Jesus Christ Superstar_ is a wonderful musical,” Sansa asserts, “if you’d only watch it-“

 

“I have watched it,” Arya quips, “ _far_ too many times.”

 

“You have no culture,” Sansa tells her. Arya shrugs, and takes another egg out of its cup. This one is sky blue, like a robin’s egg. Another girl enters the room, and immediately rolls her warm brown eyes.

 

“I could hear you two fighting from the living room,” she says. Her curly, brown hair falls gently from her head, gently framing her face.

 

“Oh Marg,” Sansa says, with a honored quality to her tone, “this is nothing.” Arya nods.

 

“You should have heard the fights that we had back when we were middle schoolers,” Arya says.

 

“We would scream about shower time,” Sansa finishes with a look on her face that Shireen can’t quite place. Margaery smiles at her girlfriend.

 

“Have you two worked out who gets the shower when?” she asks cautiously.

 

“Of course,” Sansa says, while Arya shakes her head.

 

“Alright,” Sansa admits, “we haven’t. But I’ll just go shower now. You can have it in the morning.” Shireen is actually fairly amused by this. She’s never had a sibling to bicker with, and it actually seems sort of nice. Shireen looks to Margaery, and realizes with a bit of embarrassment that she and the other girl will all have to work out shower times.

 

Sansa grabs a glass out of the cabinet and fills it with tap water before heading up the stairs at the rear end of the kitchen. Margaery follows her, brushing the other girl’s hand with a seductive sort of smile on her face. Shireen quickly realizes that the girl probably won’t be showering in the morning. Her only competition will be Arya, and she will sleep until the last possible moment, like always. She won’t have any competition after all.

 

Shireen plucks the last egg out of its cup, and places the now bright green egg back into the carton. Then, Arya shoves the carton unceremoniously into the fridge.

 

“Who’s going to hide them?” Shireen asks.

 

“The Easter Bunny,” Arya tells her, with a little smirk. Shireen rolls her eyes.

 

“So I take it you will?” She asks. Arya looks scandalized.

 

“Of course I won’t,” she says, “the Easter Bunny will.” The she starts up the stairs, Shireen laughs, but follows her anyway.

* * *

 

  


Shireen wakes up in the morning to the sunlight shining in through the curtains and an empty space beside her in the bed. She turns to the clock beside her to check the time. It reads 8:31, which means that they have more than an hour before the Starks go to church.  She considers getting up to run a brush through her hair and brush her hair, or maybe even shower, but decides against it. Instead, she slumps back onto her pillow and tries to will herself back to sleep.

 

“Good morning,” a voice whispers into her ear. This time, she awakens with a scream. She hears a familiar laugh- Arya’s laugh, and lets out a sigh of relief as she opens up her eyes. She’s greeted by her friend’s terribly amused look, and her fuzzy, matted ball of hair that she obviously has not tried to run a brush through.

 

“God, Shireen,” Arya says, “I didn’t think that you’d flip that much.”

 

“You try waking up to a ghostly whisper,” Shireen mutters, but she ends up laughing too. She yawns, and tries to sit up in the bed. Arya is holding two, brightly colored baskets in one hand and Shireen by the arm with the other. The she tries to drag her out of the bed.

 

“What?” Shireen asks.

 

“The Easter Bunny came,” Arya tells her with a large grin. Shireen sends her an odd look.

 

Arya rolls her eyes, “We need to go look for the eggs.” She tugs a little harder.

 

“Come on,” she says, “we haven’t got all that long until we need to leave for church.” Shireen laughs, and gives into her friend’s tugging. She grabs her phone, and slips it into her pajama pockets.

 

 

 

Arya drags her through a part of the house that Shireen didn’t get the pleasure of visiting last night, and through the back door. She sees a young auburn-haired boy reclining on the couch that must be one of the Arya’s brothers. Probably Rickon, because she thinks that it would be unlikely that seventeen year-old Bran would still look twelve.

 

Shireen can hear some movie playing in the background, and she doesn’t have to look at the screen to realize that he’s probably up before the rest of the family because he’s not supposed to be watching the show. She’s only been in the room a minute and she’s already heard more than five f-bombs.

 

“I can’t believe that you two are hunting eggs,” he says.

 

“Come off it, Rickon,” she says, “you’re an _eighth grader.”_

 

“At least I don’t do little kid stuff,” he says.

 

“You’re thirteen,” She retorts, “everything you _do_ is little kid stuff.” The younger glares at her, but can’t come up with a retort before Arya drags Shireen out the back door. Arya hands Shireen one of the pastel baskets as they stand on the patio.

 

 

 

Shireen examines the backyard. She immediately spots a swing set, two tall trees, a flower bed, and an Easter egg just sitting on top of the patio table. She plucks it off the table and places it delicately into her basket. Then she looks to Arya.

“Go on,” she says, gesturing to the expanse of the yard. Shireen laughs like a little girl as she walks around the yard, her bare feet feeling the soft grass and even softer patches of fresh mud. She plucks eggs from spots on the fading swing set, crevices in the tree, and spots beneath the fence before she even looks to the flower bed. She’s greeted by a sight so lovely that she simply has to photograph it.

 

The lilies and tulips have started to bloom, and they almost look like something out of a painting. Shireen feels like she’s doing her civic duty as she takes a few quick photos. She snaps another of a beautiful, blue egg nestled in with a pink tulip before she places the egg into her own basket.

 

She takes a quick selfie with a blooming redbud tree in the background, and drags Arya in with her to take another one.

 

She spots one last egg, nestled in the grass in front of the sandbox, and places it gently in with the rest of her eggs. Then, she counts them.

 

“Arya?” Shireen asks.

 

“Yeah,” Arya replies.

 

“We boiled two dozen eggs, didn’t we?” Shireen asks.

 

“Yes?” Arya asks, phrasing it as a question.

 

“There are only twenty three in my basket,” She says, “and I don’t think that I can find the other.” Arya just laughs.

 

“My parents are in for one hell of an Easter gift,” she says with a grin.

 

“Shouldn’t we look for it?” Shireen asks her.

 

“Nah,” Arya says, “I can’t even remember where I hid them all. It would be easier to just forget about it.” Shireen feels guilty as she goes back in through the backdoor, but tries not to think about it. She doesn’t actually want to scour Arya’s entire yard for a second time.

 

 

 

They slip back up to Arya’s room in time to change into suitable church clothes. Arya slips on a pair of black slacks and a red top that looks much more suited for a Christmas service than one for Easter. Shireen puts on a pastel sundress with a floral print, and then they sneak back downstairs and witness a scene much too chaotic for a family that does not have any children under the age of thirteen.

 

 

Sansa and Margaery are both wearing lovely dresses. Sansa’s is robin’s egg blue, and Margaery’s a spring green, but Rickon’s white button-up is completely unbuttoned and Bran looks like he wants to use the royal blue tie that he is holding as a noose. Neither of Arya’s parents is around to help control the chaos.

 

“Mother will be furious if she sees that you haven’t even buttoned your shirt when she gets down,” Bran warns him.

 

“Even _Arya_ ’s dressed, Rickon,” Sansa says. Shireen opens her mouth to protest. Arya’s her friend, and even if Sansa _is_ her sister, she’s not allowed to insult her that way. Arya just rolls her eyes, and Shireen remembers their banter last night.

 

 _This is just the way that they talk to each other_ , Shireen reminds herself.

 

“You called hunting eggs little kid stuff?” Arya laughs, “Throwing a tantrum is _baby_ stuff.” Rickon buttons up his shirt angrily in response to Arya’s taunt, and when he’s done, Bran shoves the tie in his face. Rickon shoves it right back at him. Catelyn Stark bounds down the stairs, clad in a lovely, floral print dress and skin tone heels. Her pearls bounce against her neck as she nearly falls down the last step. She looks everyone over, and seems fairly satisfied until her eyes stray to Rickon.

 

Arya’s mother flutters around the kitchen, trying to make sure that everyone is ready for mass.

 

“Put on your tie, Rickon,” she says.

 

“But ties are _lame,”_ he complains.

 

“Your father and brother are _both_ wearing ties,” Margaery says.

 

“Because _they’re lame,”_ Rickon says.

 

“Rickon Stark,” their mother says, with an anger building in her tone.

 

“For the love of _God,_ Rickon,” Sansa says, “just put on the tie. You’re thirteen, not three.” Rickon mutters something under his breath that was probably not fit for public consumption as Ned Stark finally descends the stairs.

 

“Have you seen the Rice Bowl, Cat?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” she says, picking a cardboard box off the counter, “it’s right here, Ned.” His face looks as somber as ever, but Shireen’s fairly good at reading the emotions of stern looking men. She can see that he’s relieved. She _was_ raised by Stannis Baratheon. Catelyn glances to the clock on the stove and terror shows on her face.

 

“We have to leave right now,” She declares. Rickon, thankfully, does not protest this time. They all exit the house, and will hopefully be able to get enough seats.

 

They aren’t able to sit in the pews, but there are enough black, plastic chairs lining the back of the church for them to snag some seats. The family that comes in after them is not as lucky, and has to stand. Shireen feels sort of bad for them, though she does not feel bad enough to give up her seat.

 

She’s sat through enough long church services to know that she does not want to stand for one.

  


The service (or _mass,_ as Catelyn insists that it’s called) does not last a terrible amount of time. It lasts about an hour and fifteen minutes, and they are over at Arya’s grandfather’s for Easter dinner before noon. Hoster Tully has a dining room that seems worthy of royalty. The windows take up half of the wall, allowing a large amount of midday sunlight to provide a fully natural lighting for the room, and Shireen can clearly see a large, luxurious pool in the backyard. The pure white tablecloth makes Shireen afraid to take a bite of the delicious looking food on her plate.

 

Shireen sits down cautiously between Arya and her older brother Robb, who is an adult who does adult things like taxes and owning his own apartment in Winterfell. Shireen nibbles at her pineapple and strawberries while she listens to Catelyn talk excitedly to an older man with greying auburn hair. She tries to avoid making small talk with Arya’s older brother who is an adult and does adult things like having an actual adult job.

 

She ventures out a bit, after a while, and eats some of her scalloped potatoes, pasta, and a casserole that she doesn’t even want to guess the ingredients in. Arya takes a moment to introduce Shireen to everyone at the table, and attempts to introduce Shireen to all of them. Shireen wishes that the other girl would have done this earlier, before they all sat down and started eating, but no one ever accused Arya Stark of having good timing.

 

Once Arya is finished, Shireen is quite familiar with the entire Tully clan. Hoster Tully, her grandfather, sits at the head of the table with his completely grey hair and grey demeanor. Brynden Tully, her great uncle, laughs beside Arya’s mother with his hair the auburn equivalent of salt and pepper. Arya’s aunt Lysa looks so much like her mother that Shireen almost asks if they’re twins, and her uncle Edmure looks a lot like her brother, Robb. Shireen wonders if Arya has any doppelgangers on the Stark side of her family? Roslin Frey, Edmure’s girlfriend, smiles sweetly at them all and seems uncomfortable with the whole situation.

 

“I wish that Jon was here,” Arya says, and Robb mutters his agreement. Shireen remembers them mentioning that their other brother who lives further North wasn’t able to come home because he had to work both Friday and Monday. Shireen has to say that she’s a little bit disappointed. She’s seen pictures of Jon before, and he’s quite a handsome man.

 

The conversation lulls as Shireen tries to take another bite of her Jell-o egg. She feels like she might explode, but she’s determined to finish at least one more.

 

 

 

Awkward lulls in conversation apparently spawn awkward conversations with the Tullys.

 

“Are you a lesbian too?” Arya’s Aunt Lysa asks. It doesn’t sound malicious, really, only curious. It might be the oddest question that Shireen’s ever heard.

 

“Lysa,” Catelyn scolds. Arya just sort of shrugs, because she isn’t insulted. Arya’s never insulted when people think that they’re together.

 

“No,” she says, “Shireen’s just my best friend.” Arya doesn’t mention that she doesn’t like men either, because it isn’t relevant to the conversation. Roslin Frey looks incredibly uncomfortable about the whole conversation. The conversation lulls, and thankfully, Sansa bursts in before Lysa can ask any more awkward questions. She starts gushing about she and Margaery’s plans for the future, and Shireen is happy to fade back into the background.

 

Edmure and Roslin excuse themselves after dinner, and Arya says her goodbyes. She has softball practice on Monday morning, and she can’t miss it. But Shireen can’t say that she seems too torn over leaving the gathering early.

 

Shireen definitely isn’t. Family gatherings are bad enough with her _own_ family. Arya laughs as they walk out to her car.

 

“I am _so_ sorry about that,” She says, “I forgot how awkward family dinners can be.”

 

“It’s alright,” Shireen says, and she means it. Dinner wasn’t all that pleasant, but everything else was: the egg hunt, the trip to Walmart, even the chaos in the morning. Shireen is the only child of two conservative parents; she never had anything vaguely like that in all of her life.

 

“If you’re interested,” Arya says, as she opens her car door, “I might invite you as my Thanksgiving date for next year. There will be free food, and it will get my mom off my back about needing to find a boyfriend.” Shireen laughs at the thought of proper Catelyn Stark thinking that _both_ of her daughters ended up gay.

 

“I might take you up on that offer,” Shireen replies, opening the door to Arya’s truck. Arya turns the key, and turns her radio dial to a heavy metal station.

  
She starts banging her head as she drives, and Shireen takes another look back at Winterfell. She could get used to spending holidays here, having fun with her best friend. She could get _really_ used to it. She finds the beat, and starts banging her own head in time.

 

Arya drives.


End file.
